


And death said: No.

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: -happening after the building falls on him and he's hospitalized, Angst and Feels, Burns, HYDRA Husbands, Hospitalization, Hydra (Marvel), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow implied relationshit, M/M, Needles, Pain, pissed off brock, rage and suffering, smashing stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:09:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I received this anon prompt and I thought it was a good idea to fill it:anonymous  asked:  You know what i want to see? Fanfics about Brock in the hospital being taken care of by a nurse (male or female, doesnt matter) i want him to see his now ugly face and be upset over it. I want to see him lash out at the nurse when s/he tries to help him use the bathroom or feed him to assert his manhood. I want to see him broken and angry; to see that rage and vengefulness brew within him. I always see fanfics focused on the good guys but what about the bad guys? They fucking matter too





	And death said: No.

Machines buzz away and somewhere between the sheets, his heart, is beating slow and distant. Echoes of steps running up and down a corridor but he doesn’t want to open his eyes, or can’t. He’s not sure.  
Another day passes, though, he cannot tell and shimmers of bright lights pierce beneath his eyelids and opens his eyes, welcomed buy nothing but a blank white ceiling that does not care. He tried to move but everything hurts and he could only grunt in pain as he sees with the corner of his eyes someone in a white coat approaching and a needle makes him forget everything as his eyes fall shut all over gain.  
Days pass, but the pain seems to turn into some more noticeable sensations, other than just blinding pain. There is heat and an icy chillness dancing across his skin, wondering how the hell can he be able to feel both at the same time. Cold sweats and shivers waking him up in the middle of the night and as he tries to move, the door always opens and a hand touches something. He thinks it’s his hand but the feeling is strange- somehow further away from his senses, as if he’s touched in another room and he’s not even there.

It’s morning. A blue eyed boy sits quietly, reading a newspaper. The corridors outside and all this… hospital, is quiet as a tomb. Vague flashes of memory come back to him and he knows, it has to become worse, pretty soon.  
With a grunt he shifts, the boy, quickly casting the news paper aside with a rustling noise that fills the air. He stands up and helps him up to a more comfortable position, as much as he could, anyway, but there are definitely improvements in his recovery. Brock doesn’t say a word as he becomes aware that he has bandages around his head. He just listens to the blue eyed boy that stares back at him with a strange glee in his eyes.  
Harry Osborn, the young man says his name is.  
“As I’ve heard of your… astounding survival, I’ve personally made agreements to bring you here, Mister Rumlow.” He slowly paces the room. Brock’s eyes fall over his own body and seeing the state he’s in, he would gasp, move, say something… but he cannot.  
“You’ve been in a terrible accident and you are here in my father’s hospital.” the other explains with keen interest. Brock sighs and the tiredness falls over him again as his eyelashes fall heavily once again as soon as he notices the boy pressing a button. The image of his smiling lips and twinkling eyes, fading into the familiar darkness.

* * *

After days, maybe weeks even, Brock finally finds the strength to move but chooses not to. He hasn’t spoken a word since he woke up. His mind wondering about, trying to remember and at the same time to forget. He knows that he has to get up and get over himself and all his thoughts of confusion as he cannot form a full memory in his fuzzy mind.   
He does not even think about it when he slides off the bed, a nurse immediately seeing his movements, rushes to help him. His feet feel strange, unused… He grunts and tears his hand away as she tries to hold him up. He’s still too proud for this crap. He’s not fuckin invalid, just a little wounded- at least that’s what he tells himself.  
Dragging himself over to the bathroom, he is surprised to see that there is no mirror there and squints his eyes at the white wall, starting to annoy him with that unimpressed blankness. He clutches hard onto the door nob and slams the door shut so loud that the nurse is visibly startled and mumbling, starts to slide out the room but he’s much faster than she gives him credit and filled with morphine, he doesn’t feel that bad either. He punches the wall next to her head and leans over her with a snarl.  
“What the hell happened and why is there no mirror here?”  
“I-I…” the woman mumbles with fearful eyes as two more nurses approach, attempting to immobilize him but Brock raises his hands “Hey, hey… easy, easy… I just have some questions and someone better fuckin answer them.”

Seeing that there is no point to arguing with him, entitled to be in the know, he is informed but he badly wishes that he wasn’t, really.  
Brock steps back and sits on the edge of the bed. “Give me a mirror.”  
“But-” one of the nurses begins “NOW!” Brock lashes out and they all straighten immediately and fall into silence at once. With careful gestures one of the brings the mirror over to him. He, of course, has no fuckin patience seeing how slowly she’s extending it to him and snatches it out of her hand. When his eyes fall on his image, Brock cannot breathe. His mind, the room, the hallway- is drowned in an unnavigable silence, unbearable and heavy as that building that fell on his face.  
His jaw tenses and the only thing he can think of right now is…. “And Jack?” he asks, words strained, cutting the silence raw as it bleeds over the white uncaring walls. The nurses lower their heads, one of them shakes it slowly.

He screams, screams harder than he ever did before. Smashing the mirror into pieces against the floor beneath his feet. Small reflections of himself stare back at him in indescribable pain. He does not stop here, he cannot. The pain is too much and this time it’s not even his body hurting. His insides feel like liquid fire, his mind in a blender that he cannot, for the life of him, stop. Guilt and sorrow stabbing his heart until he cannot scream anymore. Falling to the floor, his eyes tear up as he crouches in on himself. Kneeling in front of the broken mirror that only reminds him of just how broken he really is on the inside. Brock grunts violently and is onto his feet before any of the girls think of crossing the space between them.  
He grabs the nearest thing that he can grasp. The chair flies out of his hand, smashing into the window. The nurses start to scream and to scurry out the room but Brock grabs a handful of one of the girls’ hair and with a piece of mirror cuts he face, from temple to her jaw. Blood starts pouring out from the wound and Brock licks her face while the nurse screams in pain and fear.  
He shoves her outside the room and all of this goes on for hours. Smashing and destroying every piece of breakable thing he can find in his path, as the blue eyed boy watches from the distance. Behind him guards and nurses with fearful eyes are held back as Harry insists for them to leave.

Brock, drained of energy and will, glares about the ruins that he caused, over the broken window and the torn drape, fluttering softly in the evening breeze. He’s lost everything.  
Nothing can save him and everything hurts…  
He feels desolated, like the storm of death roamed over his life and decided not to take him, just like that. He sighs and feels helpless as a lonely tear flows down a burned face that he can no longer recognize, nor feel the tears, if not for the burning in his eyes. He blinks the stingy feeling from his eyes and steps closer to the edge. Brock glares over the city, looking at the world through the hole that loss has stabbed into his heart…  
In the silence that surrounds him, footsteps echo softly behind him, calm and gentle and he does not look back. He doesn’t even care what happens to himself anymore…  
“Sir, I think I have an idea.” the blue eyed boy murmurs softly behind him.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think :)


End file.
